Lonely, wet, and cold there’s always a crowd that gathers ‘round the bend, in search of a little food, maybe some drugs or just a few cents. The weather shows itself on their faces, they’re unfortunate enough to have seen these wretched places and it’s a shame to see the good suffer the impressions of the bad, but I guess life’s just a game isn’t it? These tiny chances that we take, or maybe the ones we’d break, that lead us to this place in time. Identity is such a crafted weight, an impression that we’ve all developed, like some condition of our environments in which we are enveloped, and I like to wonder how did nature take it’s course, what keeps us from the forests? What pushed us away from earth? It’s seems our placement waits to shape us out of the fragile lump of clay that we are born as, until we’re brittle from dry decay, and if nature shapes our figure from the cells that we are made, how do these other figures always come into play?
What keeps me up in the late hours of any night is just a string of questions, never informed of all their frights, and it’s a horrific thing to realize where you started was just a point in time in someone else’s life. I figure my own claims to trust, to my passions and disgusts is just due to someone’s point of view, and it pains my throat to say that I can’t help but live that way, it’s all that I’ve been brought up to do. In the moments that our love had struck a chord, I could’ve died right there, and when the time just carried on, the melodies where mine to share, and they wept and swelled the ears of any soul that cared to listen, but they heard it for the song it sang, they couldn’t hear what they were missing. So I played these notes out for the things I loved, but didn’t see what I was missing. I didn’t see that things were changing, I didn’t taste my life dismissing, any innocence I had was just a fraction of my past, my story had been building through the hands of all I had, and I never seemed to realize my mind was growing sad. Is this nature versus the world that I had grown accustomed to? The world that held me by the wrist, and always seemed to pull me though. I wish to know.
But do I know?
I’ve done a lot of thinking lately, about the voices I know and the ones that I don’t, chasing a hope to just cope with the pressure, of accepting a change and trying to make things better. I sit here writing songs about the people I see, I wish they understood the interest I always seem to scream, in watching mothers and their children, it’s such a beautiful world, all the junkies and their cravings, it’s such a terrible hurt. I find my hope in the smallest little things, like when I bought that man a meal, and he sat there so grateful, like it was all it took to heal, and that moment got me thinking about the places that I’ve been, where no one’s ever thankful for what life has given them, and I know the guilt that sits there, I’ve done it all the same, but as much as life has hurt me, life’s the creator of my name.
So now it’s nature that calls me back, just a wish to be that unassigned life against all others, just to be able to rub the dust from my eyes, and to lose all the fears under these covers, just a hope, a chance, another week or so to think, maybe, this time things will look up for a change, I’ve gone so long without the will to carry this weight upon the shoulders that always balanced it, and I’m so sorry for the way that my own mind does shift, but I will never forget the lessons that I’ve lived.